


Affirmation

by GiGiS89



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, POV Outsider, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiGiS89/pseuds/GiGiS89
Summary: Sam and Dean receive and unexpected visitor. For the prompt: Sam/Dean, time traveling hunter





	Affirmation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maaldas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaldas/gifts).



Author's note: For [maaldas](https://maaldas.livejournal.com/). My submission for the [2018 SPN Spring Fling](https://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/207038.html) on LJ. (Do yourself a favor and check it out!)

Set in mid-Season 8. AU after 8x12

 

He arrives as planned, in the main room of the Men of Letters bunker. He has to applaud Simmons once again for his unerring accuracy. They have blueprints of course, but one never knows. He closes his eyes and takes and lets out a deep breath, shaking off the dizzying after effects of travel. He’ll never get used to that feeling, as if he were taffy being pulled and reformed. He’s only done this twice; he genuinely hopes not to have to do it again. Once he feels the nausea abate, he glances around taking in the room. It’s as impressive as he imagined from the few photographs still in existence. He wishes he had time to explore this lost treasure, but he has a mission to complete.  
  
He finds them in the kitchen, at the table drinking coffee. The speed with which they move into defensive positions is impressive. He raises his hands in surrender, assures them he’s human and explains he is, like them, a Men of Letters. When they protest that there are no more Men of Letters, he advises them that yes, in the future the Men of Letters are alive and well.  
  
They look confused by his revelation and part of him wonders why they should be. He knows for a fact they’ve not only received travelers from the past before but have time traveled themselves. He’s read all about it and has, in fact received a first-hand account from one of the very men now brandishing a gun at him.  
  
He’s not frightened. He knows he survives this mission. The Seer, _stop it, you know they hate being called that_ , Robinson, assured him as much before he left. (He feels a tinge of guilt at having even asked them about the outcome. He should have enough faith in his superiors to believe they wouldn’t shoot him on sight.) Still, he feels incredibly awkward, pinned like some specimen by the hard stare of two men who don’t yet know him, but will one day have a tremendous impact on the course of his life.  
  
They glare at him in silence. If he weren’t so familiar with this particular stare, one that caused more than one of his team mates to nearly piss themselves, he’d be terrified. (The Winchesters may be senior citizens now, but are no less menacing than the two men in front of him.) It takes everything inside him not be the first to break the silence. He’s grateful for his training. It’s the only thing allowing him to wait patiently to be asked his purpose. This must be on their terms or it’ll never work. Head Training General Winchester told him as much when he sent him here.  
  
They measure each other in a silent stand-off, him in his ridiculously formal suit, (He misses his tactical gear, but knows HTG Winchester was right not to let him wear it.) and the Winchesters, in their previously trademark flannel and jeans. It’s disconcerting. They’re younger, of course they are. He knew they would be and still, it’s startling. He sees the foundation of the two men he knows in these two strangers, but it’s like an after image. He wants desperately to look away for the way it’s fucking with his head.  
  
Finally, after what feels more like an hour than a minute, Command Sergeant Major Dean Winchester growls, “Why the hell should we believe you?” He takes a small step forward, effectively shielding his brother as he speaks. It’s reassuring and as always, a bit disturbing to see how protective he is.  
  
The Winchester bond is legend and the rumors regarding just how deep that bond goes, rampant. He, himself, tries to stay above the petty gossip, though it is sometimes difficult. As much as he respects the Winchesters, it’s impossible to ignore the way they interact: the lack of personal space, the shared glances that seem to carry entire conversations in them, and the small, intimate touches they share when they think no one's paying attention. He’s worked hard to make sense of it, but has never managed his to wrap his head around it. At the end of the day he doesn’t know anyone, related or not, that has gone to, or would go to, the lengths these two have gone to protect each other. As much as he loves his own siblings, he would never for one second consider raising one of them from the dead. CSM Winchester’s oft quoted “what’s dead should stay dead” rings in his ears.  
  
He clears his throat. “This should explain everything.” He slowly pulls HTG Winchester’s letter out of the inner pocket of his suit. The two eye him warily as he offers the letter. When CSM Winchester makes to take it from him, he drops his hands to his side. “I’ve been instructed to deliver it to HTG,” he shakes his head. These men have no idea what they’ll go on to accomplish and it’s imperative that he not share any information about the future with them. “To Sam Winchester only,” he amends, feeling disrespectful for using his commander’s first name.  
  
CSM Winchester balks, but his brother doesn’t hesitate. “Put it away, Dean,” he says.  
The brothers argue silently for a moment before the elder complies, lowering his weapon, but not, he notes, holstering it. HTG Winchester steps around his brother and extends his hand for him to hand over the letter.  
  
He has no inkling of the contents of the letter. He knows the name of the grimoire and that it is all. He doesn’t know why it’s important. His instructions were to deliver the letter and then wait while the book was retrieved and given to him. When he’d questioned HTG Winchester, asked what he should do should the brothers prove unwilling to part with the grimoire, HTG Winchester had assured him he didn’t need to worry about that. He hadn’t known what to make of the statement. One of the tenets of CSM Winchester’s training is “always have back up for the backup plan”. He has no idea what to do, if after reading the letter they should deny him or worse try to harm him. He can’t hurt them of course, though he supposed he could incapacitate them. He’s well versed in all kinds of immobilization spells. It needn’t come to violence.  
  
He hands his future mentor the letter and watches closely as HTG Winchester reads it. He can garner nothing from the blank look on HTG Winchester’s face. When he finishes reading it, HTG Winchester looks up at him then to his brother.  
“What does it say?” CMS Winchester prods.  
HTG Winchester hands his brother the letter, without looking in his direction. He’s certain the letter wasn’t meant to be shared, but he doesn’t feel any particularly need to clarify that point. The tension in the room is already nearly unbearable.   
  
“He needs a book,” HTG Winchester says to his brother then turns his attention back to him, leveling at him what he thinks is probably the coldest look he’s ever received. For the first time, in all the years he’s known HTG Winchester, he is afraid of him. “Did you read this?” He demands.  
“No, sir.” He answers quickly. “I was given strict instructions not to do so.”  
  
Abruptly, CMS Winchester hooks his brother by the elbow and drags him several feet until they’re across the room, pressed into the corner opposite him. There is nearly no space between them. Their faces are mere inches apart, like fighter’s waiting for the opening bell. CMS Winchester glances at him then clamps a hand on his brother’s shoulder, pulling him down slightly so that all he can see is HTG Winchester’s profile. His commander never once takes his eye off him. After a small nod, a few mumbled words and one long, truly squirm inducing moment of them staring into each other’s eyes, his commander orders him to take a seat.  
  
The next minutes are the longest of his life. He sits ramrod straight, hand splayed on table while CMS Winchester paces the length of the table. He can see the man has questions. He wishes he could tell him everything. Could tell him they save the world, yet again, ending the apocalyptic threat for good and in the process, revive the American Men of Letters. He wants to thank him, to assure him, but knows he can't. He bites back the urge to blurt it all out.  
  
“So, you’re from the future?”  
He nods.  
CMS Winchester considers him for a moment, before asking, “Is she still with us?”  
His confusion must be obvious.  
“The Impala.”  
Of course. That she. The only thing as legendary as the Winchester bond is the Winchester’s love for their mythical “Baby”.  
He’s been warned to say nothing about their future, but can’t see the harm in sharing this one small detail. He nods.  
CMS Winchester grins, huffing out a small chuckle. “That’s my girl.”  
He supposes it’s not necessary to share she’s strictly a showpiece now.

  
Mercifully, HTG Winchester returns with the book a few moments later.  
“It was exactly where it was supposed to be. I didn’t even know that room was back there.” He tells his brother.  
“Are you sure about handing it over?”  
“You saw the letter.”  
CMS Winchester nods, looking suddenly pensive. Lord, he wishes he’d stolen a peak at the contents.  
  
HTG Winchester sets the book down in front of him. He doesn’t miss how HTG Winchester’s fingers twine for a split second with his brother’s as he takes his place beside him. He heat flushes up his neck and cheeks. It’s something he’s seen them do before and always had convinced himself was accidental. He knows now he’s been fooling himself. He also knows it doesn’t matter.  
  
“Thank you, sirs.” He stands and offers them his hand. He wishes they understood just how much he’s thanking them for. They each shake it dutifully.  
“What do you need to get back?”  
“Not much,” he grins. He’s been looking forward to showing off his talent. He takes his chalk out of his pocket and begins drawing sigils on the table top.  
“Hey!” CSM Winchester admonishes.  
“It’s just chalk, Dean.” HTG Winchester nudges his brothers shoulder with his own.

  
A few sigils and the right spell and he’ll be back to the future. He chants the words, his hand pressed to the sigils. He focuses his thoughts, his energy on where he wants to go. The magic builds inside him, the familiar pull of time tugging at him. He slips out of the past back to his present with CMS Winchester’s words, ringing in his ears.  
“We made it, Sammy. We fucking made it.”

 


End file.
